


Keep your knives sharp

by Silvermoonphantom (Daitoshi)



Category: Danny Phantom, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, superphantom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:37:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daitoshi/pseuds/Silvermoonphantom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of crossover oneshots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Danny noticed his mom in the living room, but headed upstairs.

His phone was still at his computer desk, blinking to show him that he had a message. Or three. You could never tell.

 

He hummed, tapping the edge of his phone. Oh? A voicemail from an unknown number. Odd.

Danny opened the voicemail, listening to a harried-sounding mother try to calm her fussy child while reminding him to pick up milk and extra toilet paper. She wished him love, and there was the sound of something splashing in the background before she cursed and hung up.

Wrong number.

He slid down into his computer chair, and on a whim typed “Danny Phantom” into the search bar. A few pictures popped up, and some newspaper articles. Of course some sites declared he was a cry for attention from a dying town, but there were also fansites and some...interesting literature.

Somehow it reminded him of Tucker’s link. They had seen the black car roll into town, overheard the two questioning someone at a diner. Tucker had immediately become interested, while Danny leaned more toward suspicion. Either way, his friend dove right into research on the two, and sent him a link of his findings with some ominous texts warning to be careful.

A double-click later, and images filled his screen.

The PDF that opened was not one he expected.

Police reports, news articles, photographs, all of them featuring their past guests.

His mind connected the dots as quickly as he could comprehend what he was reading. They had a pattern, an attraction to supernatural rumors. His mom had been in contact for days before they arrived.

It felt like ice was wrapping around his heart, far more venomous than when his frosty core had been overfilled.

He quickly sent it to his printer, readying a highlighter.  The machine clicked its displeasure at the sudden work, spitting out the web pages obediently. Danny slunk down the stairs, finding his mother sipping away at a glass of wine in the living room, a book sprawled open on her lap.

“Mom.”

His voice was strong, on the edge of commanding. This was serious, he didn’t have time to beat around the bush.

“The guys that came over yesterday - the Winchesters. They’re dangerous.”

As she looked up, he slid the thin stack onto the book’s pages. Mug shots stared up from the paper, green ink drawing her eye downward. The glass of wine was lowered to the table beside her chair.

“They’re serial killers, and I think they’re targeting you.”


	2. Best Endings

“Ignorant child. I know better than most, the path a story can take. I have felt empires rise and fall, I can feel the climax of a story pulling at my bones.” He faltered, adjusting his glasses. “Not that I have bones, but it’s a feeling.”

“GhostWriter, you’re monologuing.” The man sniffed haughtily, adjusting his scarf.

“It’s a narrative. Shut your fool mouth.” A gleam sparked in the corner of his eye, and he swooped forward, either not noticing or ignoring the way Danny flinched back. Their noses were almost touching, and from this distance it was really obvious how every one of the writer’s teeth were sharp and serrated. How did he not bite his tongue all the time?

“Every story needs a good ending. Is yours a tragedy? Will the underdog succeed? Is this a tale of sacrifice or of Coming of Age? I want to know.”

“This isn’t a story, Ghostwriter. This is reality.”

“But reality IS a story! It’s all a tale to be told, and the audience decides who is the hero, and who is the villain. You’re the hero of this story, child.” His grin widened. “I plan to see this plot to the end.”   

Danny stared at him for a moment, taking a breath. “What if I’m not the Hero?”

Ghostwriter scoffed.

“Any good writer knows a hero when they see one. You have it written across your face, emblazoned across your chest like a badge of honor. You’re a main player, Phantom, whether you like it or not. We can prepare the path, but you have to walk it.”

Danny sighed.

“The people of the Far-Frozen call you the Chosen One, don’t they?”

He gave the bespectacled ghost a half-hearted glare and flies away.

Ghostwriter just cackled, swooping off toward his library. He’s been keeping an eye on the newest section lately, watching manuscripts shiver into being, being edited and revised, and some of them bound.

He plucked a softcover from the shelf, ignoring the dozen books flitting around him, finding their places as they were created. The best part about crossovers, he thought wickedly, was the ultimate decision of the author - Who would become the main character? Who would triumph? How skillfully would they weave the worlds together?

Literal or not, anticipation thrummed in his bones as he spread his fingers over paper and ink. He knew that a black car was approaching Amity Park, a climax of epic proportions following close behind.

He closed the book with a snap.

It would do no good to spoil the ending. GhostWriter let a hissing laugh slip between his teeth, tucking the book on a high shelf.

Carver Edlund always had the best endings.


	3. Impossible things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You call them Ghosts, but their origin has nothing to do with souls.

There are times when something happens that seems so out of the realm of possibility, it is not even considered an option. A shark attack twelve miles inland, A table exploding into fire.... A coincidence to the nth degree, or a bizarre happenstance only possible through a trail of very specific and unlikely events.

The portal was one of those things.

They knew that it would not work, honestly. It was meant to be a transporter-like device, where an object was inserted into one portal, slipped through subspace. It was playfully nicknamed the Ghost Zone, due to ‘real scientists’ denying its existence. Subsequent materials related to this ‘nonexistent’ subspace  were named along a similar train of thought. Ghost-proof fishing line, for instance, was a fail-safe in case objects lost momentum halfway through, and needed to be connected and dragged from one end to the other. 

 

* * *

 

 

Finally, a breakthrough.  

Maddie was so excited when she discovered a chemical compound that encouraged the breakdown of universal laws. Alone, it did very little, but when charged with enough electricity, the particles somehow opened tiny cuts in reality itself. (Oddly enough, it was only a few atoms short of a flavor compound in a popular soda brand.)

Other experts in the field of particle physics were quite alarmed at this, and urged them to halt progress on the final portal.

 

They created it anyway, hoping to at least create a doorway, if not the slide they wanted.

When the light generated in their little metal hoop suddenly shifted from pale white to acidic green, they knew an amazing step had been taken.

 

A few moments later, as their friend and colleague was writhing on the floor from an unstable energy burst, they wondered if that step was toward good or evil.

That distinction became clearer when something green poked out of the portal, waving around and touching the surfaces around the portal. It was exploring with purpose, with sentience, and when a second tentacle started to slither out, Maddie cut the power.

 

The limbs fell to the ground, severed from whatever host body it originated from, and shuddered before melting into violently bubbling goo.

 

The door had been opened, the barrier between their worlds weakened.

It was too late to stop.

 

 


	4. Refuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been having crazy writer's block - was hoping some snippets and prompts would help loosen it up

 

There was a horrible chemical smell in the air - The kind of acrid tang that happened in bathroom cabinets, when bottles of polish remover, rubbing alcohol and old plastic mingled for years. It clogged the air, made it hard to breathe. Not for the first time, she was glad her helmet filtered her air supply.

Valerie rolled her shoulders, the red material of her suit crackling in protest along the still-smoking black mark. While her enemies may not have the best precision, even a blind squirrel could find a nut now and again.

Her jet-sled had long been abandoned, the noise and shining metal far too conspicuous on this battlefield. It buzzed unhappily in the back of her mind, a little wriggling vine of a thought that wasn’t quite her own.

She had tucked herself  just inside the broken window of a guitar shop, hoping to take a moment for diagnostics on her own weapons and armor. The numbers were still scrolling down the side of her vision, but the sound of approaching footsteps had her blinking it away. An alert sort of hum coaxed awake her weary body. Danger, be alert, be silent. That the suit seemed to react a microsecond before her own limbs was once again ignored. She’d dwell on it later.

She tightened her grip on the rifle-shaped energy gun, drawing it up to her shoulder and pushing back further into the shadows she could find. A man whipped into the room, ducking behind the door and steadying the single hinge while out of sight.

Her sensors detected a few ghosts stream past, threat levels ranging from minimal to moderate. There were a few more blasts from far in the distance, breaking glass and a persistent car-alarm making an eerie backdrop for the evening. The man poked his head out, and froze when he spotted her crouched in the far corner, silver muzzle trained on him steadily.

“Identify yourself.”

There was subtle shifting in his shoulders, like he was trying to arm himself behind the door, one-handed….or perhaps re-load a gun, she hadn’t spotted whether he was armed or not before he hid.

“Stop moving. Identify yourself.”

She bit out the command, squeezing gently on the trigger to incite an eager whine from the barrel. The acidic glow that built was always intimidating.

He raised a hand (maybe both?) in acquiescence.

“I come in peace.”

“I’m sure. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Name’s Dean. Don’t you think you should be aiming out there?”

He tilted his head sharply toward the window, and an earth-shuddering explosion emphasized his point. She ignored the dust falling from flickering fluorescent lights.

“Depends. Are you with them?”

The incredulous look didn’t really suit him.

“Of course not! We’ve been trying to prevent this whole shitstorm from going down!”

She lowered her gun, voice holding no small amount of derision. .

“Good job you did there.”

“Yeah, thing got out of hand. We’re working on it.”

He casually revealed he had, in fact, been reloading behind the door, and stepped gingerly around broken glass and fallen instruments to join her in the shadows. Valerie watched him warily, until he began checking his own arsenal. 

She began the diagnostics program again with a thought, keeping one eye on her new guest. With a second body, it might be easier to clear some of the buildings - set up a safe spot. The hum in her suit agreed. 


	5. Fall from Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been having crazy writer's block - was hoping some snippets and prompts would help loosen it up

 

Castiel knew what it felt like, to be torn between two sides. He knew what it was like to be human, and he knew what it was to be angelic. With angelic eyes he could see every molecule, track the patterns of bird migrations and stroke smooth a photon’s vibration. He could feel the universe swirling together with endless complexity, each electron fitting so perfectly together, even as creatures moved about without guidance.

Creation was beautiful.

As a human, it was so much more **real.**

He could taste and touch and smell everything in a way that registered as meaning something. Experiences connected to emotions with dizzying frequency, and he quickly began associating a flash of black and the low growl of an engine with home. Cheap cologne and gun oil registered somewhere between safe and exciting.

He’d never been so fond of any color, before he saw that shade of green.

In any case, Castiel could understand how crucial it could be, to hold on to humanity. Not only humans, but the concept of being human, and remembering human experience was also precious.

Ghosts, Shapeshifters...many creatures he once looked down on with the same disdain as any other of Lilith’s creations now carried some semblance of pity. They were echoes, doppelgangars clinging to the ideas and memories of their lost humanity.

These creatures were not new in the sense of chronology and existance, but they were new to his experience. They came from a rift, a passage to another world where the Lord’s creation had not touched, and another being had set up shop.

They followed different rules, these beings, and craved different things.

They craved energy, lives, souls… above all, they craved control.

Castiel marched with his brethren when the Rifts started opening wider, pouring these creatures and parts of their world onto the Lord’s Creation.

They were Abominations, and must be stopped.

No matter their form, or voice, or words.

Even if they convinced humans to protect them from the Angels who moved for their destruction, the Abominations must be pushed back, destroyed and the Rifts sealed again.

Castiel could understand why humanity was precious, and worth defending.

He also knew how it could be worth mimicking. Heaven knows how many Angels (or Archangels) prowled around to learn how to emulate God’s children.

During one of the battles, he found a creature who had learned to take on a humanoid form, It changed color and essence so it could Feel and Experience like the humans do. Green eyes changed to blue, not unlike his own vessel’s. White hair to black, unstable shape to one with internal structure and defined organ systems.

He was not angry.

As he struck it down, he only felt pity.

Humans really were the blessed ones.

Even Abominations envied them. 


	6. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the day, the stars are still shining - but our sun is just so bright, it drowns out their light.

 

The sunlight stretched lazily, blanketing the west side of town with a rich, golden glow. If one looked closely, they could see a black and white figure flit through the sky with an air of distraction. With the thick yellow light, it was almost impossible to see his natural, pale white glow.

Danny Phantom alighted in decaying window pane, the glass long since shattered out.

He took a quick scan for any watchers around, peering hard into the shadows that lay commonly around the docks district. It was mostly warehouses that non-employees weren’t allowed to enter in there, but it paid to be wary. There was a faint rumble as a noisy engine cut off, but no moving figures.

It had been a while since Danny had actually felt confident in reading the newspaper. Tucker had snuck it into his bag during Lunch, telling him to read when he got home.

It was an odd request - There hadn’t been much ghost activity lately. Well, he had recently been in a quick skirmish with Skulker that left a nasty bruise on his cheek, but it hadn’t been explosive enough to make the news.

He flipped the battered paper over, examining the front page.

He was right.

But, not in a good way.

Splashed across the pages in solemn letters was the death of some teenage kid. “Local Student Dead”, it read. “Evidence baffles authorities.”

If it had something to do with ghosts, wouldn’t they just say so? Energy signatures, weird feelings before and after; Ghost attacks were pretty recognizable by now.

Oh hey, was that why a FBI guy was hanging around school? He assumed it was another Guys-In-White subsection, here to cause trouble, but maybe it was an actual murder investigation. He’d dodged being confronted for questions - no need to draw a spotlight to himself - but maybe he should have asked.

The sound of a scuffling shoe had him looking up from the paper.

Speak of the devil, and he shall arrive.

Danny chuffed a laugh, watching the guy poking around the buildings below. Probably a high-ranking guy, for how clearly he was flaunting the dress code. Long hair and crazy sideburns - tall as hell to boot.

The halfa pouted enviously.

Whatever powers his ghostly half had given him, it certainly wasn’t super growth. If anything, he’d slowed (not stopped, he couldn’t have stopped, right?) bodily maturation. Senior year of Highschool, and he knew Tucker was shaving that scraggly mess that grew out of his cheeks.

For a while, Danny’d been shaving his peach fuzz, until he got bored of it and just accepted that a manly beard was still a few years away. Late bloomer, or something.

 

Oh, what was that?

 

He peeked his head out further, kicking his feet against the sill to brace himself. Some sort of detector? The right lights were flaring slightly, and he could hear a zipping whine that changed depending on where the agent pointed it.

Maybe he actually was a GIW member, or one of the FBI people who had been in cahoots with them.

That thought sputtered to a stop when one of his little bounces sent some broken wood off the sill, tap-dancing down the wall for a moment before shattering on the ground below.

Whoops.

The Agent looked up at him, startled at first. His face quickly became one of shock and faint horror, and he hastily pocketed the device. Interesting - had he seen something he wasn’t supposed to?

No, that couldn’t be right.

The guy was putting his hands up, like he was trying to calm him, muttering something to himself.

Danny tilted his head, leaning forward slightly to try and hear what he was saying.

“Jesuschrist don’t lean over!” Oh, he was yelling now. “Just, edge back a bit, would ya? Let me talk?”

Danny looked around quickly, wondering what may have prompted this. Was it a trap? Was a GIW guy hiding in the starewell, waiting to pounce? He strained his ears, but couldn’t hear anything behind the uncomfortable shifting of the man below.

Also, mice.

So many mice.

He shifted obligingly back a few inches, folding his legs criss-cross and leaning his elbows on them too peer down at the guy curiously.

“Look, I’m going to call 911, okay? You just stay put for a bit, let’s keep talking, okay?”

His eyebrows furrowed down in mild confused.

“You know they’re just going to get angry if you call about me.”  He called back. “I’m not that big a deal.”

The man gave him a pained look, almost puppyish, which was a bit odd coming from an older guy.

Wait a second…

OH!

“Hey dude, are you… worried that I’d jump off here?”

“Of course I’m worried, kid! No one should die like that. Killing yourself isn’t the answer, okay? Whatever it is, we can work through this. You don’t have to die.”

He looks down at one of his glowing boots, quirking an eyebrow.

“It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”

“Fuck, man, just… hold on a bit, okay? I’m coming up.”

“Alright, I’ll wait.”

Danny remained on the ledge, and went back to reading the newspaper. Maybe from inside the building, the guy would realize who was was talking to, and why it was a futile - if rather nice - gesture.

Heart removed and missing? That was grisly. It certainly didn’t sound like any of HIS ghosts. If there was some new creep roaming the streets, stealing people’s actual literal hearts, he’d have to keep an eye out.

It occurred to him that it might be a human doing it, but his mind shied away from the thought.

He heard loud stomping coming up the rickety stairwell, and sent a quick prayer that the metal wouldn’t collapse under his weight. He swiveled in place, leaning against the edge of the window frame and relaxing one leg inside.

Holy shit, the guy actually had to duck through the doorway!

Danny frowned at him when he came closer, leaning backward away from any containment, restrainment or whatever other not-friendly-to-ghosts device the guy might be toting. Too many brushes with the Specter Deflector and variations thereof made him a li-ttle bit wary of random possible ghost-hunters grabbing at him.

Just a tad.

A tiny bit.

Okay, a lot.

“Look, I’m not going to jump, okay? You misunderstood the situation - I’m just reading.” He rattled the newspaper that had been folded in his lap.

He let the guy catch his breath, frankly rather impressed at the speed he had scaled those stairs with. Definitely not a pencil-pusher.

“This window has a great view, and it’s pretty isolated. I usually don’t have people butting in and freaking out about my life, here.”

“Could you step away from the window, then?”

He gave a sigh at the worried look, swinging both his legs inside and taking a few steps in and away from the window sills. He opened his arms, inviting the guy to take a look.

“Happy?”

Despite his outward exasperation, he was getting a warm little curl around his heart. It was nice that the guy cared enough about other people to drop everything and run up here to talk a kid down.

Except, maybe it wasn’t the best idea.

“Did someone hit you?”

Danny cocked his head, following the guy’s gesture and touching his cheek.

A bruised ache echoed back from his touch, and he remembered the (probably ugly) bruise on his jaw and cheek.

He laughed, nodding.

“Yeah, but it was an easy fight.” He grinned impishly. “I won.”

“Good on you. You, uh.. got parents I can take you back to, or a guardian?”

“Yeah yeah, don’t worry about me. Seriously, I wasn’t going to jump. Here, I’ll pilfer a chair or something to sit by the light from now on - happy?”

The displeased look on the guy’s face said he clearly wasn’t.

Danny tried the old distraction method.

“Heeeyyy… have you see what was in the paper? Some kid got his chest ripped out. Pretty freaky, huh? You here for that?”

“What do you mean?”

Playing dumb, huh?

“Well, you were at the school today, flashing a badge. Figured FBI people dont get involved unless things get really weird or across state borders. This falls under the ‘weird’ category, right?”

Danny was vaguely aware that the sun was still setting, colors changing and shifting with every passing minute. The golden glow had mostly faded, leaving a deep blue spreading across the sky in preparation for the true black of night.

The guy looked like he was about to add something - maybe accepting Danny’s excuse at face value and fucking off, but something in his face changed.

He stared intently at him, eyes flickering over his figure.

Danny crossed his arms self consciously, tossing his hair out of his eyes.

“What?”

“You’re glowing.”

Danny glanced down.

“Yeah, I tend to do that. Anyway, it was great meeting you, I should probably get going. Maybe I’ll catch your name sometime.”

“Wait, why are you glowing?”

He couldn’t help belting out a laugh.

“Dude, you’re in Amity Park! Haven’t you heard of ghosts?”

Seeing the opportunity, he couldn’t let it pass.

He saluted the man, lifting off and gliding backward through the wall. He flew off into the darkening evening, giggling at the thought of whatever startled face the guy must have made.

 

The next time he met Sam Winchester, he wasn’t giggling.

It was hard to be cheerful when looking down the barrel of a very real, gunpowder-and-bullet kind of pistol.

 

“Hello again, Ghost.”

 

Funny how those things worked.

 

 


	7. Forgotten Realm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another 'Deleted Scene' from Something Wicked

He was halfway through chewing a mouthful of lasagna when his ghost sense went off. Good news? Almost choking was a good excuse to run to the 'bathroom'

Bad news? He was choking on lasasgna.

What a way to go.

A coughing fit later, Danny phased down into the basement, rubbing tears out of his eyes. Ghost Writer looked unamused for being made to wait, and quickly turned on his heel. Danny followed through the still-open portal, twisting through green landscapes and physics-defying structures.

He had overheard something interesting at the Council meeting the previous night – a tidbit of information he couldn't help puzzling over.

"So what did this look like before the Angels put up the barrier against Ghost Zone?" Danny glanced at GhostWriter's outfit, wondering if he was even old enough to remember.

Supposedly, the Ghost Zone had been more… whole, before the Angels had staked their claim over Earth. Just one more dimension sharing a bit of space with another. The natural portals were common, back then. Doors opened to deep woods, to fairy circles, to foggy places best left forgotten. It had invited story after story from the human world, of places unlike any other, where alien creatures obeyed laws only they could understand.

"A bit like the human world, maybe a bit more colorful. The Ghost Zone's physics have always been touch-and-go, so there was always interesting story ideas." The man's tone distant, face an odd mixture of nostalgia and annoyance.

"That's why we still have some kingdoms, you know. Bits of leftover space still clinging to what once was. Aragorn made a deal with Time, and saved his kingdom from the brunt of the blow."

Danny looked around, watching the edge of a jungle island crumble away and float into an amorphous green blob. The island vanished into its swirling folds.

What had happened?

"I know- " He paused in time to swoop around a purple door, catching up again with ease and darting in front of Ghost Writer to see his expression.

"I know this may sound like an odd question, but what are ghosts? Are they really dead?"

Danny had to backpedal when GhostWriter stopped quite suddenly, and turned to meet a flat stare.

There was a long silence, where the halfa was potently aware of the faint heartbeat still pulsing at his collarbone, despite the lack of air he breathed. Was it really a heart, or just an energy core, like other ghosts? He had never stopped to investigate that closely.

GhostWriter suddenly slid in close, their noses almost touching. Danny jerked back at the sudden proximity. Acidic green eyes searched his face, and he tried not to appear uncomfortable.

"No."

The spectre moved past the halfa and continued on his path noticeably faster than before.

"What? What do you mean 'no'?"

Danny turned quickly, letting his legs fade into a spectral tail.

"I'll not answer that question. Not now. Maybe later, but not now."

"C'mon, this is important!"

"Will it help you defend against the Angels? Will it power your shields? I think not, so monologues can wait. Focus on the problem at hand, Child."

Danny bristled at the nickname, sullenly keeping his mouth shut after that.

He deliberately ignored the faint crack of another piece of land crumbling in the distance, dissolving into a fine green mist.


	8. Onward (pt 1)

She didn’t mean to run away from home. She just…. Got lost.  

And it’s a bit harder to get lost  on purpose than it is to run away on purpose. Still, when you hang up on your parent after a rather nasty argument, then vanish…. Well, conclusions can be made.

As luck would have it, Jazz did end up finding herself lost, with a flat tire and a spare but no tools to change it out. She had picked apart her car looking for the tools to do it, but the space where a tire iron should have set was conspicuously empty.   
  


And by ‘conspicuous’ she meant ‘one of her parents probably grabbed it when they needed it, and forgot to put it back’

So, Jazz sat on the hood of her car on a tree-lined dirt road, hitting ‘try again’ over and over again as her texts refused to send.

For lack of a nail, the war was lost.

She sighed in frustration, leaning back against her windshield and staring up at the orange-streaked sky. Night would be falling soon, and unless some friendly stranger drove by, she was stuck. She hadn’t seen any houses before her tire started thumping, and didn’t have high hopes for seeing one up ahead.

Seeing one ‘Bear Warning’ sign was quite enough to keep her from wandering through the woods, too.

She closed her eyes, listening to the whisper of leaves and chattering of crickets roaring up in earnest. At least it was a nice night.

\---

“It’s not really smart to fall asleep outside like that.”

Jazz gasped, jerking awake and flailing as she slid down the hood of her car.

She whipped around to see who had talked, astonished to find a beat-up blue truck parked behind her car. She hadn’t even heard it pull up!

“I thought you were dead, or something!”

A lady with chin-length red hair was walking back toward her truck, crowbar swinging loosely in one hand. Jazz stared at it incredulously. If she was dead, why on earth would the woman need a freaking crowbar?!

But… bringing that up probably wasn’t the smartest idea while she was still holding it.

“S… sorry, I didn’t meant to- I was hoping for someone to drive by and kinda drifted off?”

The woman gave her an amused look over her shoulder.

“Flat tire, huh?”

Jazz hopped off the hood, peering down at the affected tire.

“It wouldn’t be that bad, but I don’t have any cell reception to call a tow truck.”

The lady clicked her tongue.

“Yeah, me neither. This part of the state is pretty spotty”

“You dont happen to have a tire wrench on you, do you? I have a spare in my trunk, but no tools.”

The lady laughed, shoving her hands in her pocket as she walked back up the side of the road toward Jazz’s car.

“You’re more prepared than I am, to be honest. I don’t even have a spare in that busted ‘ol bucket of bolts.”

She gave Jazz a once over, before a pensive look stole over her features, and she looked up the road.

“I… could drive you to the next town, if you want to try buying the tool there?”

Jazz went over her options, checking the time on her phone.

Thankfully, it had only been a few hours since she dozed off. Unfortunately, that meant there was about two hours of lost time where people either DIDNT drive past her, or didn’t stop.

Even if she just went into town to call a tow truck, it would be worth accepting the offer. Aside from the crowbar in the beginning - understandable, being a lone woman in the woods - this lady wasn’t setting off any red flags for her.

“If you’re not in a hurry…” she hedged, a swell of gratitude making her give a sheepish smile.

The other redhead waved her hand.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a quest up there anyway, it’s not out of my way at all. “

Jazz tilted her head at the odd word choice.

“Thank you, then. I’m Jazz, by the way.”

She offered her hand, and the other woman brushed some rust off her hand on her jeans before reaching up to shake it.

**“Charlie. Nice to meet you.”**


End file.
